Copper Girl (7 page)

“You really live here?” I murmured, staring up a silver staircase. The risers and banister were studded with opals, and a massive ruby sat atop the newel post.

“I do,” Micah replied, his bemused smile having returned.

“Does your family live here, too?”

“No. There is only me.” He guided me past the staircase and into an elfin version of a front parlor. Portraits, both full-size and miniatures, graced the walls, and there was even a mantle that held what looked to be mementos. Family heirlooms, maybe? I found myself wondering what sort of family lurked in Micah’s past. Surely, they were tamer than mine.

My elf led me toward the far wall, which was all but overtaken by a massive knot of tree roots, gnarled and knobby. A thick expanse of cushions in varying hues of blue lay atop the woody ledge. I gladly sank onto the Otherworldly couch, perhaps the most comfortable seat I’d ever experienced. In a soft voice, Micah asked, “Now, tell me of these abductors.”

I dropped my eyes, at once full of irrational fear and shame. “Do you know about the Magic Wars?” He nodded. “Ever since, magic has been illegal. I mean, the government still uses it, but they say it’s too dangerous for the public.”

“Dangerous?” Micah echoed, his brow furrowed. “For one such as you, wielding magic is as natural as a bird taking to the wind.”

“That’s what Dad thought,” I murmured. “My father fought for magic with the war mages, but he went missing during the wars. We still don’t know if he’s alive or dead.” My voice trailed off, and I was silent until Micah pressed something into my hand. It was a silver chalice, large and heavy, like the grail of legend.

“It will calm you,” he replied to my unasked question.

“Where’d you get this?”

“One of the servants brought it,” he replied.

“No one’s been in here!” My voice was a bit too shrill, but Micah only chuckled.

“You can see them, if you know how to look,” he soothed.

I squinted and looked around the room. I saw nothing, not a person or gnome or field mouse … but then, something shimmered. That something slowly took the shape of a being, not male or female, but a being, nonetheless. It was about three feet tall, pale, and slightly shiny.

“The metal!” I exclaimed. “The metal does your bidding!”

“It does,” he confirmed, obviously pleased with my reasoning. “I call them the silverkin.”

“Silverkin,” I murmured. “I thought you were all alone here.”

“As long as I have silver, I am never alone,” he stated. “Now, tell me of Max.”

Instead of speaking, I stared at the contents of the goblet. “What is this?”

“Chamomile,” Micah replied. “Along with a bit of brandy.”

“I shouldn’t have this,” I said, pushing it toward him. “They say, if you consume food or drink in the Otherworld, you’re trapped here for eternity.”

Micah laughed. “What nonsense you humans believe! I have consumed your food and drink on many occasions, yet I am not trapped in the Mundane World. And,” he murmured, pressing the rim to my lips, “would it be so terrible to be trapped with me?” His silver eyes held me fast, almost daring me to answer him.

“I guess not,” I murmured, then took a sip to placate him. Despite what he’d said, it seemed to be mostly brandy with a touch of chamomile, but it was good, and it did calm me. When I lowered the goblet, Micah was still looking at me expectantly, so I launched into the tale of two girls who’d lost a boy.

“Do you… how much do you remember about the Magic Wars?”

“A bit,” he replied. “I try not to involve myself in the affairs of men.”

Smart idea. “The wars came out of nowhere. We’re taught in school that there was unrest for years between the Elementals and the Mundane leaders, but I don’t remember it that way. I mean, I was young, but I was old enough to understand what was going on around me.” I fell silent for a moment, once again lying under the fairy tree behind the Raven Compound, Max and Sadie beside me. Mom and Dad were off in the meadow, laying out sandwiches and fried chicken for a picnic lunch. Life was simple then, simple and good.

My life was neither of those things now. “Then, all the radio and television stations went black, and for a few days, no one knew what had happened,” I continued. “We were cut off. After almost a week of isolation, Dad received a summons. It was from the war mages. He never came back.”

“Was he killed?” Micah asked gently.

“We don’t know. Yeah. Probably.” Micah pulled me against him, and I rested my head on his strong shoulder. “I mean, why else wouldn’t he come back? Unless he thought we were dead; no, even then, he’d have come back to the house.” He would have had to return to the Raven Compound, since one just didn’t abandon more than a thousand years of family legacy. Even if one thought that family had died.

“When I was younger, I imagined that he was in hiding, and that someday he’d just come walking through the front door,” I continued in a small voice. “But that hasn’t happened.”

The few times I’d told this story, people usually told me to keep my chin up, that I should never give up hope that Dad might come home. Juliana, my confidant in all things, had always gone out of her way to assure me that Dad would find his way home, somehow, some way. Micah didn’t do that; he just gave me the space to speak. “You were very small?” he asked at length.

I nodded. “I was seven, and my little sister, Sadie, was three. Almost four.” I wondered if Sadie would be able to recognize Dad. My own memory of him was hazy; I remembered strong arms and bright copper hair, and riding on his shoulders. I remembered laughter and happiness.

“Your brother, Max is his name?” Micah prompted, rousing me from my memories. I nodded, and he continued, “He is older than you?”

“Yes. He’s two years older than me.” I took a deep breath, and burrowed further into Micah’s arms. “After the war ended, the government outlawed all magic. No leniency was given; if you were caught practicing, you were taken by the Peacekeepers. If you came from a known magical clan, you were put under guard.” I was silent for a moment. “We were watched, me and Max and Sadie and Mom. The three of us still are. As soon as Dad disappeared, before the war even ended, Peacekeepers served Mom with papers dissolving her marriage. They said that Dad was a political criminal, so the government just divorced them and put everything in Mom’s name. Max didn’t like that.”

“A good man never lets an insult to his mother pass,” Micah observed.

“He wouldn’t stop practicing. No matter how much we begged, no matter how much Mom yelled and Sadie cried, he just wouldn’t stop.” I pushed up Micah’s sleeve and traced the edge of the copper cuff. “So they took him. They just walked in uninvited, went into his room, and took him. He was only fifteen.”

I babbled on for a while about my mother’s repeated attempts to find out where Max was being held, as she had asked all over again how the government could act so heinously against a child, what the specific charges were, if we would ever see him again. I hadn’t openly spoken of Max in so long, it was like ripping open a wound, and a waterfall of pain and anger came rushing forth. Throughout it all, Micah just listened.

“So, when you weren’t there this morning, I thought the Peacekeepers had taken you,” I finished at last. “I didn’t see them take Max. I just woke up and he was gone.” Micah smoothed back my hair.

“Max’s metal is copper, as yours is?”

“I’m not sure. All three of us have the same coloring. So yeah, probably.” He was still messing with my hair, picking through it like a monkey searching for lice. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at your true color.” Oh, roots. “Why cover such loveliness?” Micah murmured, as he stroked my dark brown tresses.

“After Max was taken, Mom started dyeing my hair, and Sadie’s,” I replied. “She said we looked too much like Max and Dad.” At that, Micah became serious again, and took my hands in his.

“Then Max must be like you, of copper. If he lives, the Iron Queen should be able to find him.”

“What?” I nearly choked on my disbelief. After all this time, to finally be able to learn what had happened to my brother. “Dad, too?”

“Since his power is of metal, then it is quite possible,” Micah replied. “Especially if one or both have taken shelter nearby.”

“Can you take me to her? Can we ask her now?” I gasped.

“I will request an audience. Be warned, my Sara, this request may not be granted. My queen is a subtle woman, most fickle in her temperaments.”

I couldn’t believe it. Awed beyond words, I slipped my arms around Micah’s neck. “Thank you,” I whispered. “You don’t know what you’ve given me. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You are very welcome, my Sara.” He stood and drew me to my feet. “I will go at once, and advise my mistress that my consort requires an audience with her.”

“Consort?” I repeated. “Why did you call me that?”

“What else am I to call you?” he countered, tracing the silver chain around my neck. “We have exchanged tokens, I have been to your bed.” He kissed me, softly. “As long as you wear my token, I belong to you, my Sara.”

Well, I hadn’t known that
that
was what these tokens meant. “Is being a consort like being married?”

“Somewhat. Once you give me an heir, you will be named Lady Silverstrand.”

“Heir?” I still held the chalice and gulped the rest of the brandy, which wasn’t the best idea, since my head was already a bit fuzzy. “You mean, a
baby
?”

“Of course.”

I swayed a bit on my feet, then looked accusingly at the now empty goblet.

“What was in here?” I slurred. Micah caught me about the waist and lowered us against the cushions.

“It was meant to calm you,” he replied. Well, I wasn’t just calm, I was positively languid. I pressed my face against Micah’s chest; his leather shirt was so stiff and rough compared to his skin, and to get it out of the way, I fumbled with the buttons. I didn’t look up, but I imagined his bemused smile as he shrugged out of the shirt and nestled me against his bare torso. The last thing I remember was one of the silverkin tucking a blanket around our waists.

Some time later, I stretched, rolled over, and nearly suffocated myself. After a bit of wheezing, I opened my eyes and discovered that I’d rolled toward the back of the couch, inadvertently pressing my nose against the soft cushions. Impressed that I could manage to be so clumsy even while sleeping, I turned over and found myself faced with a sleeping elf.

He really was a beautiful, albeit unusual-looking, man. Micah’s most notable feature was his fluffy silver mane, but even that dramatic hair couldn’t detract from his fine-boned features, nor his rich, caramel skin. It didn’t seem to be a tan, either, since his neck and chest bore the same deep tone as his face and arms. Unless Lord Silverstrand spent a good deal of his time shirtless…

I grazed my fingertips across his cheekbones, then down his lips, then took the time to trace his jawline. His chin was baby-smooth, and I found myself wondering if elves grew beards. Trolls have beards, everyone knows that, and so do gnomes…but elves? Honestly, I had no idea, but what I did know was that any human male attempting to pass as a non-magical (so really, any modern) man went about clean-shaven. There was an old folk tale that claimed magical beings couldn’t bear the touch of iron, or stainless steel razors, against their skin, hence all those bearded trolls. My father had worn his beard proudly; the only time I’d ever seen him shaven had been the day he’d left for the wars.

But Micah was certainly a creature born of magic, and his chin was as smooth as mine. This meant one of two things: the folk tale was wrong (no surprise there), or elves just weren’t that hirsute to begin with. I made a mental note to check Micah’s bathroom for a shaving kit.

Putting aside the question of elfin facial hair, at least for the moment, I continued learning Micah’s topography. I stroked a path down his neck, across his collarbones and southward along his chest, my fingers at last coming to rest upon his belly. His leather pants were laced up with rawhide cords, and, after a few less than appropriate thoughts, I considered his strange attire. As Micah’s consort, would I be expected to wear leather suits and run through the forest?

Probably not, since Micah hates it when I wear pants
. Dressing like a man, he’d called it. Well, if he thought that I was going to sit around all day and buff my nails just because he put a necklace on me—

Micah opened his eyes and smiled, and suddenly sitting around looking pretty didn’t seem like such a bad idea. “My Sara,” he murmured after he kissed me. “You’ve awakened.”

“How are your eyes silver?” I mumbled. “Like little bits of metal. Mine don’t look like copper.”

“When copper is left to its own devices, it acquires a most pleasing green patina,” he replied. “Perhaps if I polish them a bit…” He made a wiping motion, and I ducked against his chest.

“You’re silly,” I retorted. I was smiling with him, mumbling about silliness and the brandy having gone to my head, when I sat bolt upright. “What time is it?”

“It is not yet noon,” he replied, completely misunderstanding my agitation. “Worry not. I’ve plenty of time to petition the Iron Queen for your audience.”

“I need to get to work!” I tried to vault over him, but his arms held me fast.

“Work? What sort of work?” I sighed, knowing he wasn’t about to relax his hold any time soon, so I gave him a high-level explanation of my occupation as a Quarterly Report Sorter. As expected, Micah was unimpressed.

“There is no reason for you to so demean yourself,” Micah stated. “I beg you to not suffer this… this
job
again.”

He said ‘job’ as if it were a curse. While I certainly wasn’t on the fast track to any career goals, my job at REES wasn’t demeaning. Mind-numbingly boring, yes, but not demeaning. “I have to work,” I insisted. “It’s how I pay for my apartment, and the heating bill, and buy food. It’s what people do.” I didn’t bother mentioning that the only real reason I was working was to blend in with the non-Elementals. That, I was certain, Micah wouldn’t understand.

“My Sara, I will care for you,” he murmured as he kissed my jaw, “your every need,” and trailed his lips across my throat, “your every want,” his fingers plucked open the buttons of my blouse, “I will see to.” Micah pressed his lips against the thin skin over my breastbone, lingering for a moment. Suddenly, he moved so his face was directly over mine. “Do you doubt me?”